


Vocation

by kenaz



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenaz/pseuds/kenaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter prompts Alec to take stock of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vocation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greerwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



 The afternoon had only just drawn to a close when Alec pushed open the hospital doors and stepped outside. After the bright lights of the surgery, the kinder hues of incipient evening came as a relief. The day’s work was done, and he greeted its remainder with a sense of satisfaction: an unexpected appendectomy had gone well, no complications, and the other procedures he had assisted had been routine. Orderlies had wheeled in broken bodies, and he had mended them. It was this overall feeling of achievement and general well-being that prompted him to duck into the pub for a celebratory drink before home. It was early yet, and he hadn’t thought to find anyone there, but upon clearing the threshold he immediately spotted a man with dark hair sitting at the bar. The sound of the door shutting roused the lone drinker and his head jerked around sharply, as if in expectation of something. Alec saw at once that it was Toto Phelps looking none too pleased and idly spinning the ice around his glass with a long, slim finger. But having seen Alec come in, he adjusted his expression, swung off the bar stool, and swooped over to usher him inside.

“Alec, dear! Just the man! I called at yours earlier, but Sandy gave me a dark look and said you weren’t at home. I had almost given up on finding you, but here you are!” He swept his arms in a theatrical and half-mocking gesture, as if the pub were some grand party and he the gracious host. “Does Sandy know you’re here?” he asked with ersatz brightness, “Or have you just slipped the lead?”

Alec did not answer, and tried not to show his irritation at the question. It didn’t do to show too much of a reaction to people like Toto; it encouraged them.

“Ahh,” Toto crooned. “You _have_ slipped the lead! Well done!” His eyes, already bright and glassy as a stuffed toy’s, took on an acquisitive gleam.

Already the drink seemed a terrible mistake. Instinct told him to flee: come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. Heaven only knew what impression Toto had left with Sandy. Well, he thought, little good it does to indulge Sandy when he was in the mood to play the martyr. One couldn’t go about catering to bad behaviour. He slid onto the stool next to Toto and hailed the barman. Toto chattered away at him amiably, clearly a few drinks ahead.

“Bunny’s working, I presume?” Alec asked. He didn’t particularly care, but it was the sort of thing one feigned interest in.

The fluorescent lights gave Toto’s face a sickly tinge. The smile had gone, and his eyes took on a feline, bitter cast. “Oh, sod off, then. You needn’t rub it in.”

Alec was genuinely perplexed. Word had got round that in the wake of Ralph’s defection, Bunny had wasted no time in getting back on the town. He and Toto had apparently been billing and cooing ever since. “I’m sorry. Have I said the wrong thing?”

Toto huffed and sank down a little on the stool. “Well, it’s possible you haven’t heard, I suppose. Though you really ought to go out more. If you did, you’d know these things.”

Alec sipped his drink, which wasn’t as strong as he might have liked. “I’m out now, aren’t I? So what have I missed?” He rather thought he could guess. Half the reason he went out so rarely anymore--aside from the simple fact that his work and studies kept him well occupied-- was that he loathed the inevitable scenes, and hadn’t the energy nor the interest to keep track of who was in and who was out. The other half of the reason was, of course, Sandy.

“That filthy bugger was catting around the whole time!” As Toto spoke, his hand tightened around the glass as if he intended to shatter it in his fist. “He brought home some naff little barkey and I walked in on them. In our own bed!” His voice, rising in indignation, had gone shrill as a woman’s. “Didn’t even have the decency to change the linens afterward.”

Alec almost said, Well, that didn’t take long, did it, but he thought better of it. He wondered how Toto could have imagined it would have gone any other way; it wasn’t as if he and Bunny had been strangers. Anyone with good sense could see the sharp teeth behind Bunny’s guileless smile, his casual air of entitlement and incidental cruelty. Bunny reminded Alec of a spoilt child who derived great glee in breaking other peoples’ things and pretending it had been on accident, knowing that no-one would dare to punish him for it. Whatever Ralph had seen in him, beyond his superficial charm, was well beyond his ken.

“Of course, I told him where he could stick it,” Toto sniffed. “Threw his manky little blag out the door and his kaffies after him.” He tossed down his drink in one last, almost violent, gulp. “I’m staying at Peter’s until I find a new place.”

“Was that what you went to the house to tell me?” Alec asked. He and Toto were not so close that the inevitable collapse of a doomed affair was reason enough to pay an unannounced visit. Some other agenda was at work.

“Oh, _that_.” Toto canted his head and arched a brow. He had likely meant it to look seductive, but caught in the hazy grip of liquor, it fell quite short of the mark. He leaned in as if to divulge a confidence and put a hand on Alec’s knee. “It can wait.”

Here be dragons, Alec thought. He winked at Toto but gently removed his hand and set it on the bar as if it were a fragile, inanimate object. “Not tonight, dear.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re suddenly feeling chivalrous on _Sandy’s_ behalf. It’s never been a concern before.”

Alec smiled thinly. The fact that it was true didn’t make it any less palatable to hear in such stark terms. “It isn’t Sandy I’m worried about. But I’ve enough trouble already without inviting it into my home.” After a pause he added, “Bunny gives as good as he gets.”

Something in Alec’s words seemed to refocus Toto’s attention. He laughed in a bold, stagey sort of way. “He does, doesn’t he. He certainly gave good to Ralph. And _that_ is what I came to see you about.”

Alec’s general disinterest did a sudden volte-face.

“How _are_ you and Ralph getting on these days?” Toto raked him over with a look that was at first calculating and then deviously eager. “Do you speak often?”

Alec’s back stiffened, but his face maintained its neutrality. “Fine, and yes. Why?”

“Bunny had hinted at some point that you were at odds.” He peered through the bottom of his glass as if the ice might somehow miraculously sweat gin if he only looked at it intently enough. “Well, then! I have _quite_ a tale for you, dear. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, how I would _love_ to be a fly on the wall when Ralph finds out. I don’t dare say it to him, though. He’s not terribly fond of me to begin with--heaven knows why-- and he’s liable to kill the messenger.” He paused and his mouth contracted with distaste. “I wouldn’t have any _need_ to say it at all, if only Bunny had even a _tot_ of decency. But he doesn’t, as I’ve learned--”

Alec was still on tenterhooks over the bait Toto had left dangling, but he was afraid if he showed too much interest, Toto would snatch it out of reach and hold on to if for currency. “You’re meandering, my dear,” he prodded smoothly, patting Toto’s hand sympathetically. “What were you drinking?”

“Gin and tonic, thanks.”

Of course, Alec thought, Toto took it as a foregone conclusion that someone else would buy his drink. Spivs like him and his set gave no thought to anything except what they could get and how much they could sell it for, or how they could turn a situation to their benefit. As far as it concerned him, Toto and Bunny were made for each other. He dug in his pocket for money and pushed it across the bar.

“Well, it’s nothing to me, mind you,” Toto resumed once he had been given his drink and satisfied himself that it had been made to his taste, “but Bunny was quite vexed about Ralph throwing him over for that cripple. He was always on about the Odell boy and how Ralph seemed to believe he was practically sprung from the head of Zeus, lame leg and all. It was dreadfully tiresome.” He dunked his finger back in the glass and resumed toying with the ice. It rattled and battered against the glass. “And really, Ralph must bear some of the blame. When I found out Bunny was two-timing me, I couldn’t pack my bags fast enough. Ralph stuck around for _days_ after. Not that I’m sympathizing with Bunny, of course. Bloody bastard.”

Alec resisted the temptation to pull the glass out of reach. “So what did Bunny do that you’re afraid to tell Ralph?” He had grown quite weary of the conversation, of the bar, of Toto. It seemed far too much effort to winkle out the rest of the tale. Had it involved anyone but Ralph, he would not have pursued it.

“Any road up, Bunny somehow found out the Odell boy had a little friend-- if you catch my meaning-- in the ward at the E.M.S. hospital. Some C.O. on jankers or whatnot. He figured he’d just swan in and charper around, come back with some gen to let Ralph know just how _friendly_ they were. But when he showed up in the ward in uniform, the orderly said, ‘you must be Ralph Lanyon.’” Toto’s wild gesticulation nearly sent his glass spinning off the edge of the bar. “Why, the boy had all but given him Ralph’s head on a platter! Bunny simply had to follow the script”

“Don’t give me that,” Alec said. The story sounded like the plot of a bad film. “Bunny’s too crude for that Cinqocento stuff.”

Toto appraised him with a sweeping glance. “Shows how little you know of him, the lying little sod.” He leaned in as he spoke and returned his hand to Alec’s knee, though now it was as much for balance as for anything else.

“He's crude, yes, but quick on his feet. He told the boy some stories about what he--meaning Ralph--got up to with Odell. He was _quite_ descriptive. The very thought must have made the boy’s hair curl. Poor stupid thing, he had no idea Bunny was just sending him up.”

Alec had begun to feel quite ill. "Go on."

“Well, the boy apparently found the whole thing too much, and he punched Bunny in the face! Knocked him a good one-- for a pacifist-- and split his lip right open! ” Toto leaned back against the bar, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “I was horrified at the time, of course, but now I only wish he had done him worse.

“When anyone asks,” he added as a sort of post-script, “he tells them he walked into a light pole.”

A dull ache had begun to blossom behind Alec’s eyes, and with it came the deflating awareness that a situation had arisen which required careful management. It apparently wasn’t enough to lead his own life and expect everyone else to lead theirs. Alec could see now how everything would play out, the dramatic climax leading to catastrophe in the third act: Ralph would need to be told, and if Toto wouldn’t do it, it fell to him. It followed that once Ralph knew, he would mete out his own justice to Bunny--something which, Alec thought with a bloody-mindedness that discomfited him a little, was long overdue--and then Bunny would retaliate in the only way he could, just as Toto had feared Ralph would do: by killing the messenger.

The walls of the pub had begun to close in around him as if it had taken on the proportions of a child’s play cottage. He rose from his stool and Toto’s hand slipped away. “Even I have to admit Bunny’s outdone himself on this one. But I really must be off. Sandy’s expecting me, and I’ll be all for it if I don’t get a move on.”

Toto put on a disappointed face even as his eyes rose over Alec’s shoulder to see who was coming through the door behind him. He didn’t much care who it was, Alec knew, just so long as it was warm and willing body on which to vet his wounded pride-- preferably someone in their set who would promptly carry the tale to Bunny. And round and round it goes, he thought wearily.

“You’ll tell Ralph all about Bunny, won’t you?” Toto asked in a callow voice filled with false concern. “He really _ought_ to be told.”

Yes, Alec supposed, he must. “I’ll tell him. And I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.” Sorry, if for no other reason than an occupied Bunny was less likely to stir up trouble. Apparently, Toto hadn’t kept him occupied enough.

Toto responded only with a shrug. He’d lost interest in Alec now that he had no immediate use for him. When the door opened again letting in another swirling tide of chilly air he straightened up and gave a coy wave to the man coming in.

Alec didn’t bother with further goodbyes and left Toto to it. So many of their kind seemed to exist as if on a stage, stock characters in a panto with gaffs and foibles playing out nightly for an attentive, if not appreciative, audience. They cared nothing for the world at large or what went on in it, preferring to imagine that it began and ended with them, in their poorly-lit bars and insular parties. It wouldn’t have mattered to Toto, for instance, how many lives Alec had saved or at least improved that day, because nothing that went on in the hospital had anything to do with him. Even when Bim had been killed, grief seemed as if were something to be displayed rather than felt. Platitudes were offered and heads were bowed and then it was out to the pubs and _life-must-go-on-mustn’t-it_? They had no sense of proportion, nor of candor, save only enough sense of self-preservation to don rudimentary camouflage in the presence of outsiders. If this was all they could offer the world, little wonder the world treated them as inferior, as criminal.

He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Toto he’d be all for it if he didn’t get home. If he spoke to Ralph, he would also need to speak to Sandy, and it was not a conversation he relished. Damn Bunny and his ridiculous machinations! He took a modicum of pleasure at the thought of Ralph laying into him, yet that pleasure was mitigated by the knowledge of what would happen next. Bunny was never one to let anyone else have the last word, nor to let any deed, good or bad, go unpunished. He would be more than happy to drop by sooner or later when he knew Alec wasn’t around, and then: _Oh, my dear, I hadn’t wanted to say anything, but you really do deserve to know..._ He would produce a thorough and detailed accounting of all the transgressions he knew Alec had ever committed-- and likely some that he hadn’t, but by that point, it would hardly matter, would it? Sandy would eat up every last word of it, the lies as well as the truth, because Sandy thought it was the truth already.

Walking had not eased his headache, and his stomach had begun roiling. These internecine quarrels were unbearable, really. Maybe, he thought, I should just stay out of it. Telling tales...well, it’s not on, is it? And it isn’t any of my business what anyone else gets up to, really. Ralph is a grown man; he can fend for himself. If Toto had something to tell him, he could bloody well do it himself. But even as those thoughts coalesced in his mind he saw them for what they were: the insidious fog of cowardice. He’d had debated the subject of blackmail with Ralph and Sandy and Laurie, and he remembered with galling clarity that he’d stated, quite pitilessly: ‘it’s a matter of what your self-respect’s worth to you, that’s all.’

 _That’s all_. It was easy to claim the moral high ground when one’s life was not being held up for scrutiny; under close examination, his own life fared rather poorly. He had always known, of course, that perfidy had its price; somehow, though, he had not thought that he would be called to settle all his debts all at once. He was not sure he felt equal to the task, and yet, this had to end, and only he could end it. To do otherwise would be to give the Bunnies of the world more clout than they deserved, and to know himself dishonest as well as faithless. And that, he decided, was intolerable.

He’d wanted to be a doctor for as long as he could remember, and, on his best days, he believed that would someday be quite a good one. But so much of it came down to being able to remember what attached to what; where blood and bone did and did not belong. Skin, muscle, fascia, organs...well, one man looked much the same as any other when you’d knocked him out and cut him open. But a man’s mind was different, and not so easy to fix. There was not necessarily a palliative for every pain-- especially not the pains that one had brought on one’s self. _First do no harm._ Well, harm had been done in any case, and now, approaching the looming dark shape of the house, he felt almost as he had the first time he had gone into the surgery, sweating the stark dread of a misstep. It was the feeling that he had completely overreached himself and had no business at all being there, but knowing that now that he was there, he had no choice but to get on with it and do his best to make it end well.

Afternoon had long since turned to evening and now the night encroached. The successes of the day receded, made small and distant by the immediacy of this ridiculous farce. Above him, a thin sliver of light escaped one of the blackouts in their window. Well, he’d bought this for himself, and now had to own it. If it can’t be fixed, he told himself, it must be borne. He would do his best to bear it, and to make it end well.

He took a breath, and went inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem ‘Like a Vocation’ by W.H. Auden:
> 
> But somewhere always, nowhere particularly unusual,  
> Almost anywhere in the landscape of water and houses,  
> His crying competing unsuccessfully with the cry  
> Of the traffic or the birds, is always standing  
> The one who needs you, that terrified  
> Imaginative child who only knows you  
> As what the uncles call a lie,  
> But knows he has to be the future and that only  
> The meek inherit the earth, and is neither  
> Charming, successful, nor a crowd;  
> Alone among the noise and policies of summer,  
> His weeping climbs towards your life like a vocation.


End file.
